The Curse of Margolotta
by Nameduplume
Summary: Young Vetinari and Lady Margolotta meet. I know there is another story here with the same subject,and I apologise in advance for any troubles this might cause,I haven't read it yet,for obvious reasons,but I want to,when I'm finished.This is just my view.
1. Before Sunset

The coach rolled trough the dangerous winding roads of high Uberwald. On the left there was a sheer wall of rock, on the right a huge drop to a thin forested valley bellow. Sometimes the wheels of the coach almost went off the road, and when they did a few small rocks fell to their doom(1). But the young pale man looking out the coach window didn't seem too worried when they did. He only nodded and rolled his eyes, half amused, half bored. He _knew_ how the world worked, he _knew_ rocks were expected to fall like _that_, on moments and places like _tho__se_. It was as if the creator was simply writing stories where he had fun with as many clichés as he could think of. Sometimes the universe was as predictable as people. And that young man knew a lot about people. He already knew a lot when he left his home city of Ankh-Morpork, some months ago. But after crossing the plains, visiting most of its greatest cities, medium towns, and absolutely insignificant villages, and travelling through many of those tiny kingdoms on the Ramtop Mountains no one really knows about, he had become an expert on people and gentle, but very definite, persuasion.

Most of the other boys who had recently graduated from the guild school had chosen places like sunny Genua for their "Grand Sneer"(3). But not Havelock, oh no, he was more interested in places he believed would be of vital political importance in the future. And, once there, what he was doing was getting to know the "common man". He was amazed at how many buttons the "common man" had. In some ways it was better than clockwork. But the most amazing thing of all, he had learned, was that the "common man" were mainly anonymous farmers, but also kings, queens, lords, ladies, heroes and probably even lawyers. In a sense "the common man" was everyone, it seemed. The trick, apparently, was to find that out and then not letting everyone else know you were also a "common man". The rest seemed to be quite easy and…instinctive.

The sun was beginning to set behind a mountain. Suddenly the hunched coachman, started whipping violently the horses, and the coach, that up until now was rolling at a rather lazy pace, went into a mad run. Inside, all the ubberwaldian passengers, jumping and banging their heads on the ceiling, started looking expectantly towards Havelock. A thin old lady said something impatiently in her native tongue, hurrying him along.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked. "I've done this the last five times. It's becoming quite repetitive."

The old lady's only answer was a stony nod, followed by a hand pointing imperiously upwards.

"You zee," said a fat man with an even fatter mustache "it iz traditional for Morporkian visitors to do zo in these parts. It iz…expected."

Havelock took a deep breath and rolled his eyes.

"All right, all right…"

He then proceeded to put his head out the window and started knocking on the coaches' roof to attract the drivers' attention. Then, with the strongest morporkian accent he could fake, Havelock shouted:

"Oi, oi, driver, sir, couldn't you slow down a pip, old chap, my boy?"

Then he started silent mouthing the coachmans' answer.

"We hafe tho be inthide the cithy walth before thun down. Ith's Valgrupunglithvonpurgithnacht. It ith when the dead come from their graveth at night to drink the blood of the living."

"Yes, yes, jolly good then, do carry on. Cheerio and all that…"

When he got back in everyone was smiling and nodding at eachother for a job well done.

The old lady was particularly proud. But Havelock wasn't. That had been stupid and pointless. And he didn't like stupid and pointless things. They annoyed him. And when he was annoyed he liked to spread it around. Because then, he thought, the people who had annoyed him on the first place understood what he was feeling like and wouldn't do that again so soon.

And so he decided to teach those nice ubberwaldian people a lesson on logic, reason, and not making foreigners act like ignorant fools.First he smiled like everyone else, but then he stopped as if a doubt had crept into his mind and looked at everyone quite seriously.

"You know, there's something that's not quite right…"

While he talked he casually moved his black cloak to reveal part of his Assassin's Guild Pin.Almost immediately an uncomfortable feeling generated inside the coach.

"It's probably nothing…but, you know…we Morporkian people don't always get your ways. Let me just check… shall I…"

Once again he placed his head out the window and called the coachman.

"We hafe tho be inthide the cithy walth before thun down…"

Havelock climbed out the window, and leapt to the side of the driver. That somehow attracted his attention and stoped his automatic speach.

"Yes, you told me all that," he started playing casually with his pin while he talked, "but there where some things I didn't really understand…"

"Errrr… yeth…?" that was not how this was supposed to go.

"For example… you said it was… Valgrupunglisvonpurgisnacht…was it? But that sounds like…a made up word…I mean I've read a lot about your fine country and your fine traditions and never heard of something like that… What is it exactly?"

"Er…ith's a local holyday, thur…"

"Oh…local…I see. I guess it must be quite localized, then… But you added that it was when…the dead come out of their graves at night to drink the blood of the living? Were you, by any chance, talking about vampires? Don't they do that anyway? And I thought they were very common around here, aren't they? I thought you would be used to them by now, with them rulling the country and all…"

"Well…yeth…we are…but thtill…"

"And you know what? The really odd bit was how the coach was going so slowly since this morning, but then, just before sundown, you decided to make a mad dash for the nearest town… I really believe we could already be in Bonk if we kept a reasonable speed during the day. It's funny how this has happened for the last five days since I arrived in Ubberwald… In Vlock Buszhter, Flogh, Bad Splintzer and Unha Bridzeddictzyonaria. And the funniest thing was, that latter on, I learned that in some of those places there hasn't been a registred vampire atac for years... "

"I gueth I'm over zealous and tend to mithcalculate dithtanthes, thur.."

"Yes, I guess you do. But you know what you could do?"

"What?"

"You could slow down a bit. Just so noone gets hurt. After all a fall from a very high place might be more dangerous and much more probable than…let' say…a vampire attacking a moving coach, isn't it? Not when he has…ah, ah…all that food lying around… don't you think?"

"Well, when you put it like that, thur…"

"Yes, I thought we would see eye to eye, Mr. Igor… Well, I'm going back in then, it's a bit cold out here, don't you think?"

And Havelock entered the coach the same way he got out. His fellow passengers where now looking to him with respect and a bit of fear.

He might be young, but he also was an assassin, and, more importantly, he had managed to make a coachman Igor slow down during sunset. That was the stuff of legends.

Havelok looked out the window, happy with himself. Now, that was a job well done.

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(1) Which is a bit odd since rocks are seldom doomed (2). I mean they are eroded or turned into molten lava (or magma, depending on your mood or on how picky you are) but certainly not doomed. Rocks are quite undoomable.

(2) Unless, of course, we are talking about the ancient and little known Obnoxious Singing Rock of Krull which, millenniums before, had been cursed by a very insane wizard into singing loudly all night long, until everyone got bothered and, after some polite, but very pointed remarks from its neighbors, got thrown over the edge. Then they all went to bed because they had to work tomorrow and needed to get some sleep and it was bloody late. But, as Krullians are all a bunch of loonies anyway, no one really cares much about this legend.

(3) Actually they also wanted to learn a lot about people during their "Grand Sneer", mainly people who happend to be genuan girls. There was a half-clandestine publication at the time, with very intriguing engravings they all wanted to check personally. It was called "Genunans Gone Wild: Soul Cake Edition!!!!".


	2. When The Wolfbane Blooms

It was early night when the coach stopped in a square near the centre of Bonk. When the passengers got out , Igor, showing signs of some irritation and mild frustration, helped them carry their luggage to a inn nearby. The Fang and Neck it was called, its sign figured, quite appropriately, the image of white sharp fang biting a slim pale neck. Havelock couldn't help but think that uberwaldian people were a bit on the obsessive side.

Inside, the ambient was cosy and warm. There was even a man playing a violin, dancing amongst the costumers, and singing a happy song about dying, being dead for a very long time and, hopefully, remaining so. But there was quite a strong smell in the air. It seemed of some kind of plant. It was not entirely unpleasant, but it certainly was…overwhelming. The food, when it was served, also had a strong taste of whatever filled the room with that strange odour.

Havelock had been educated in the Assassin's Guild School, where he learned to appreciate food and drink very meticulously, paying particular attention not just to its taste, but also odour, consistency and colour. (1) He was a gourmet. And he had come top of his class. When the innkeeper passed his table he said:

"Excuse-me...but do I notice a hint of...wolfbane...in this food?"

"Oh, yes sir. It is very traditional..."

"Traditional? To ward off any werewolves that happen to be around?"

"Oh no sir... That's just a myth. Wolfbane doesn't work with werewolves. It's for vampires."

"Oh... But wouldn't garlic be better?"

As soon as Havelock mentioned garlic the man looked insulted.

"Oh, never sir, we are not that kind of establishment! We don't have any garlic here! Do I look like the kind of man who sells garlic? In my basement? After sunrise? To the specialised vampire hunters? Never! We abide the law, we do! We haven't any illegal substances here!"

"But you do have wolfabane? In your food, and walls, and tied in enormous bunches under the tables...and chairs and..." Havelock sniffed the air once or twice "...yes...inside your shirt...under your armpits?"

"Oh, you can't catch me there sir, wolfbane is perfectly all right. We can have wolfbane all we like, according to the treaty...the werewolves saw to that..."

"But not garlic?"

"Oh, no. You see, garlic is absolutely revolting for the vampires, so they were very clear on that point when they divided the city with the werewolves, NO MORE GARLIC! Wolfbane is ok, though, because it only gives them a mild headache... You know the old saying:

_Even a vampire which is strong in head__And bites many necks a__ night__May become annoyed__When the __wolfbane__ blooms__A__nd have__ a migraine, light.._.""I can't say I've ever heard it..."

"It's quite famous, though, sir. Anyway this is all to do with the Bonk Divisional Treaty, sir..."

"Oh...the Bonk Divisional Treaty...of course. Would you be so kind as to refresh my memory? I've been on the road for a while, so I'm not as up to date in the political events of the Unholy Empire as I'd like..."

"Well sir, I do have other costumers to..."

Havelock started casually touching his knife while he talked.

"Oh...how disappointing...and I was so looking forward to learn all about Uberwald, when I left the guild..."

The innkeeper noticed the boy's stylish black suit and cloak. He wasn't a regular costumer.

"Well...I can..."

"Oh, please, don't get into any troubles on my account. I'd just like to have a little chat, to learn some more...that's all..."

"Well, after dinner I may have some spare time, so..."

"Wonderful. It's an appointment then! Oh, and while you're at it, would you mind taking my stew with you and adding a little of that powdered garlic, you most definitely don't have in your basement for the specialised vampire hunter? It's just that I find wolfbane a little...flat... "

"Er...of course sir...right away..."

"Thank you. Well, do go on..." and at that moment the sentence hit Havelock like an inspirational particle, it was so... appropriate...every sound, every word clicked into place, and worked together, in harmony, to create a perfectly innocent statement that, at the same time, had a spine chilling effect, it could even have a double meaning if said by someone with enough political power, it would certainly come in handy in the future. Slowly he pronounced it, tasting every syllable, "Please...do not...let me detain you..."

(1) Actually gastronomy was a very important part of an Assassin's education. After all they had to be perfect gentlemen, with knowledge in arts, science, philosophy, politics and, of course, ways of killing people. But, on the other hand, how to stay alive was also a useful little trick. And, when all your colleges are all versed in the subtle art of poisoning, you better be versed in the subtler art of recognizing poison in food or drink. " Terminal Gastronomy" and "Deathnology" (the art of poisoned wine appreciation) were very important subjects indeed, mainly to prevent what they learned in " Deadly Culinary" happening to them. Failing any of those subjects meant failing the entire course, and, in extreme cases, expulsion from the school, usually on the inside of a dark wooden box.


	3. A City Divided

There was a small room behind the inn's dining room. There were several green couches placed so guests could have some privacy while talking in small groups. It was the kind of room where conspiracies started between a glass of brandy and a klatchian cigar.

The innkeeper didn't really feel at home there. That wasn't his kind of environment. The wolfbane wasn't hanging from the rafters, for one, instead it was made into delicate bunches and placed inside elegant vases. And people didn't talk or sing loudly there, they whispered. You couldn't tell him that was proper behavior, whispering, how would other people know what you were talking about if you went around whispering? But his daughter had been very keen on the creation of that "small elegant space", as she called it. She said it would give some class to the place. The father had pointed out that between vampires and werewolves, the people with class in Uberwald were better out than in. But then his daughter threatened that, if he kept that backward thinking, she would run away and join the wandering interior decorators. And, as she was at that difficult age when young girls start sleeping with their windows open and drying their hair at night, by moonlight, in their underwired nightdresses, he decided it was better if she had something to keep her mind busy, she was a very beautiful girl with lovely curly blond hair, soon vampires would be lining up for her, so she better keep both her feet on the ground (quite literally).

When he saw the boy, he was sitting, reading a book. For some reason, interrupting him wasn't an option, so the innkeeper waited. After a few seconds the boy raised his head and dropped the book.

"Ah…Mr…Shmartzeberg, your lovely daughter told me, I didn't notice you were there. I do apologize, this Notsofatso is such a fascinating reading, don't you agree?"

Mr Shmartzeberg agreed, even though the only book he had ever read in all his life was "Where's My Bat" (1), and it had taken him a week, at age 20.

"Oh, please, do sit down. We can resume our conversation about…The Bonk Divisional Treaty…was it?"

"Well, sir, I'm just an ignorant uninformed peasant, you see. I don't know much about politics and stuff. Those things the counts and countesses know about, see?"

"Oh, but you are an innkeeper, aren't you? You have an ear to the world. Do not sell yourself short. Besides you are a common man, and I love to learn from the common man…"

"Oh yes, sir, that I am! I'm as common as they come!""Good…"

"Well, the way I see it what happened was, after the last peasants' revolt, led by the werewolves against the vampires, both the vampires and the werewolves decided to sign a mutual non aggression pact, see? They were going to call it the Bonk Constitution. But, due to the lesser members of both clans, they couldn't reach an agreement so they decided to rewrite the pact, change its name to "Bonk Divisional Treaty" and divide the city. To avoid confusion the pact was rectified just by the heads of both clans, and the lesser members were expelled… As a result Bonk is actually divided, by the river, in Turnwise Bonk, ruled by Count Henning Von Uberwald and Widershins Bonk, ruled by Lady Margolotta… Different laws apply in the different sides of the river, and citizens are encouraged not to cross it. The watery curtain, we call it… "

"Interesting… p_acts_, _treaties_, _constitutions_… amazing… I always thought Uberwald was a place ruled by lore, violence and blood… And now I find that you are years ahead of the plains. Only recently we discovered diplomacy could be used in politics… Our former rulers believed it to be some kind of fish…"

The man looked embarrassed.

"Well, sir… the thing is…things are slightly messier here …we seldom have wars… because…well…the clans are always fighting anyway… when they talk about "pacts" or "treaties" it just means that they will fight eachother, or even amongst themselves until a set of rules is agreed upon…"

"And when you say _"rectified"_ you mean…"

"The head of a clan is killed…at least for a while… Or _almost_ killed, when things go well…"

"Ah, It seems I was right, there's no better place to learn the subtle art of politics than Uberwald…"

At that moment the innkeeper's daughter entered "the small and elegant space" and approached the place where Havelock and her father were sitting.

"Mr. Vetinari, sir…" She said.

"Please, Sara, do call me Havelock, we must be about the same age…"

She smiled."Havelock, a tall, dark, hooded, evil looking, mysterious stranger is asking for you…""Oh, one of those… Did he say what he wanted?"

"Well he just said he wanted to have a word with the assassin boy from Ankh-Morpork… And I thought he meant you…"

"Ah…I see my clothes gave me away…"

"You do have an impeccable dress sense…"

When she said that, she smiled and gave Havelock a flirty little look. Mr Shmartzeberg wasn't finding any of this very funny, but he wasn't about to start an argument with an assassin, especially one who is being asked for by a tall, dark, hooded, evil looking, mysterious stranger. That kind of thing might be dangerous. But latter on he would have a few words with his daughter, oh yes he would.

"Well you better take me to him, then…"

The girl nodded. She really was beautiful, thought Havelock, but he had, long ago, decided not to mix duty with pleasure. And he was in Uberwald on duty. Not with the guild, a client or anything like that. It wasn't even with himself. It was a duty he had with the future. He had decided to turn it into a proper present…

(1) This book, written by Count Vladlock, is about the endless search of a poor vampire for his pet bat. It goes "Where's my bat? Is that my bat? It goes squeek, squeek, that's not my bat. It's a rat." And so on… Children books, with different animals, but exactly the same plot, as this crop up in several places, at several times, all over the multiverse, no one really knows why, but wizards postulate that somehow, if all the existent versions where read in a certain order, deep secrets about existence and meaning would be unveiled. This theory has been put forward in a paper aptly entitled "Where's Our Collective Universal Meaning?" .


	4. The Rise of Margolotta

In a deep, dark and damp cellar, there was an old stone coffin. On its heavy lid there was the statue of a woman made in white marble. She looked middle aged but still quite attractive, she was wearing a long, loose gown. On the side of the coffin, in a carefully carved gothic script, were the words "Lady Margolotta Amaya Katerina Assumpta Crassina von Uberwald", and where the dates of her birth and death should be, there only was: " Tsk Tsk, A Era Nunquam Ostendo Suus Aevum" .

The silence was overwhelming, the only thing you could hear were the far "drip, drip, drip", of a few drops of water, falling on a puddle. Everything else sounded like…well…a crypt.

At the top of some stairs an ancient door opened, with a very musical "creack", bats took flight making their annoying little sounds. Then the room was lit, but just slightly, by the flame of a torch, being carried by an old hunchback. He limped down the stairs, sometimes grudging incoherently. He was as full of scars as if he had a very violent argument with a meat grinder family. But most of them were old, at least as old as the wrinkles on his face. He was, most definitely, an Igor, but a very old Igor. Younger Igors called him Grandpa Igor, and listened to him with reverence, while he told stories of the olden days, when they had to dig fresh graves for proper brains, and not just pick a jar on a morgue somewhere. A time when their marther wouldn't have stood for any of those "woops I mixed the sane brain with the insane brain…again". He was an Igor's Igor.

When he reached the coffin, he stopped, spit on his hands, rubbed them together and, with some effort, pushed the lid, making the disturbing sound of tombstone on tomb. Inside was the body of a woman, remarkably similar to the statue.

He stared at her for a moment. She really was very beautiful, with her long black hair, her marble white skin, well drawn lips and long eyelashes. And she had a very distinct nose too. She must have been something when she was still alive.

Then, her eyes opened. A thunder rolled.

Somewhere, down in the city, in Widershins Bonk, an old lady having tea with a friend, after hearing the thunder, very naturally said:

"Oh, her ladyship is awakening…"

To which her friend replied:

"How nice…"

And then she bit a cookie and they started talking about the weather.

Lady Margolota rose, vertically, stiff as a board, between mysterious clouds of mist, until she was standing upright. Then, slowly, she unfolded her arms, and took one hand to her back. She threw her head and upper body backwards, at which point you could hear several bones cracking into place. Then she unleashed a violent cry, filled with pain and sorrow:

"Oooooooooowwwww!" She said "I really have to get one of those modern wooden coffins! My back is killing me…metaphorically speaking…"

Despite this little anticlimax Igor started clapping. He was a sucker for stile, that was why he loved working for vampires.

"Nithe rithe mirthreth. I think I like it even better then that thlow thing with the hand Count Bela de Magpyr does."

"Ah, good night Igor… one does her best…"

"Yeth, mirthreth, but that thing with the thmoke…that'th thimply ingeniouth…"

"Oh, that. That's just an old and tested trick, nothing to brag about…"

"Oh, old it might be, but you know what I thay, if ith's not broken don't fix it… And it thuitth you, mirthreth…"

He saw her rising every night, but he still loved the show. There was something about her ladyship which was captivating. Igor usually didn't approve of female vampires having too much power and living without a Count. It was not proper, villagers would talk. But that was modern vampiring for you. Women were all very well for terrorizing a small population, but to really have a reign of fear and bloody superstition you needed a man. But somehow Lady Margolotta had managed to become the head of one of the most important vampire families, and Igor didn't actually disapprove of her. At least, as vampires go, she was a traditionalist in every aspect, from clothing, to furniture, from behavior, to crypt and so on… sure, she had her…little odd moments …but those were nothing that Igor couldn't…help with…

" You're too kind Igor… Well, enough chitchat, It's time I get my evening news…

"Yeth, mirtreth…"

Lady Margolotta was now standing on a balcony, overlooking a large portion of forest in a deep valley. She was an impressive sight, whit her white dress flapping madly around her and her hair blowing in the wind. It was raining intensively but she simply didn't seem to get wet. Igor was some steps behind, protected from the fury of the storm by a doorway. He wouldn't miss this for the world. She opened her arms and, shouted:

"Children of the night…" a thunder rolled "…what wonderful gossip do you have?"

Somewhere, from the forest, a wolf howled.

"No…" she said astounded.

A bat squeeked.

"Did he? Really?"

Another wolf answered.

"Oh, I can't believe that!"

There was a sound made by a crow.

"Oh, we'll see that! I dare him to try!"

The first wolf howled again.

"Oh, the nerve! We'll soon see to that!"

Both Havelock and the man he was having tea with, in a house near the Turnwise gate of Bonk heard a wolf howl.

"You see", said the huge man "there she is again. It's like this every night! Not even the poor animals are safe from her. She's always rummaging their minds for information on what's going on in town."

Havelock studied his interlocutor. After the removal of the dark cloak (used on account of the nasty weather, he had said) he seemed like a very direct and honest man. He probably was one too. But, behind the dark mustache that almost hid his entire face, there were a pair of blue intelligent eyes. Havelock decided he had to be careful with those. The man sitting opposite to him was one of those rare bright, direct, honest men who also happened to be very, very strong, he was…well…a giant. Not too anything, just bigger and certainly stronger than normal. He was, in short, the kind of man who would never lie to you about what he feels, but would lie about much more relative and unimportant facts, like his real identity or his real motivations. He was interesting. This Grand Sneer to Uberwald was beginning to be quite a pleasant little surprise.

"But Mr…Van Hadesling…how can the wolves know what is going on inside the walls of Bonk?"

"Well Mr Ve…Havelock…they usually ask the bats. And the bats get information directly from the rats, so they know what's happening inside every home…"

"But then… why not ask the bats directly? Or even the rats?"

"A vampire talking to a rat? That would look really good. Oh no, those posh bastards wouldn't do anything so…low. They like to use wolves because they know it annoys the werewolves. Those ungrateful, overgrown, four legged dogs actually prefer the vampires!"

Havelock did not point out that dogs usually are four legged, but he did notice the tone of spite in Mr Van Hadesling voice.

"I see. So it's all a matter of status. But why not use people instead?"

"What? You mean controlling their minds and such? That's too much work for nothing. People are barely more than sources of meet and blood…"

"I was actually referring to the fact that you could simply have a few very trusted people telling you what's going on…"

"You mean Igors? They are as faithful as they come but…there's something wrong in their heads…they live in their own worlds…"

"Igors? Like my coachman? Do they count as people? Interesting… But I was referring to…lets say, the butcher, the baker or the candlestick maker…common people…"

"Oh, those? And even if you could trust them how would you make them tell anything… Unless, of course, you are talking about torture…"

"I wasn't going that far… I meant…other motivations…"

"Pity, a bit of torture's always fun… No, you live in an utopist world. But you are still a young man… You will learn…"

"Yes, I probably will… But I still am at a loss as to why you brought me here…. to "a place where we could talk more quietly", Mr Van Hadesling?"

"Well, sir, I've been informed that you are an assassin. And not just an assassin, but the very best assassin graduated of your year… In fact, I happen to know that you were voted Student Most Likely to Survive…"

"You do seem to know a lot about me…"

"Information travels around Mr. Havelock…"

"Yes, but usually on old, bad, muddy, dangerous roads like the ones we have from Ankh-Morpork to Uberwald, information tends to travel rather slowly… Unless there are large sums of money pushing it around, of course…"

"And is that a bad thing?" said Mr Van Hadesling smiling.

"It depends…"

"Well, would that be a bad thing for an assassin who is about to receive the proposition of inhuming a vampire, for the sum of money he sees fit?"


	5. Margolotta's Song

**Before starting (again, for those who have already seen this), I'd like to thank InasanityInside for pointing out that the klatchian insect eaters I had in mind were armadillos, not tapirs. And as amusing as it might be,imagining a tapir crawling around a castle trying to go unnoticed, I don't think Lady Margolotta would have stood for a pig sized animal in her great hall, so I've corrected that bit. Thank you for nitpiking... :)**

* * *

In his dark, tiny room on "The Fang And Neck", lit only by the frail light of a single candle, young Havelock was performing what could only be called a foul rite. It was too disgusting to imagine. Its mere mention would make the strongest men cringe in horror, it was an unspeakable act, best left to the readers imagination. But it's better not to try too hard, least your brains implode and run down trough your eyes. Yes, this rite tended to involve a lot of watery eyes as well. In short, what young Havelock was doing was…eating copious amounts of raw garlic. He had managed to persuade the innkeeper to sell him some of his infamous "garlic that most definitely didn't exist in the basement, for the specialized vampire hunters". And now was puting it to some use.

He was on his seventeenth helping, and those were very large garlics. But he needed to eat lots more for his plan to work. He knew he would feel bad in the morning. Hell, he was feeling pretty bad right now! But that was just his body speaking…  
He took another garlic and bit into it, if not with pleasure, at least with lots of will.  
Wisely he had also bought a large stash of herbal mouthwash. 

The hours passed, the little garlic mounds got smaller and smaller until they were reduced to just one garlic. The final touch. Havelock took it carefully, very effectively and elegantly suppressed a burp, and slowly bit into it. When he finished he smiled, pleased with himself . That was that. Now, for the three hours of Herbal Mouthwash.

Lady Margolotta was sitting at the table of her castle's great hall. Like everywhere else in that place it looked absolutely vampiristic. There were the ruined old walls, dust everywhere, lots of rats and insects running around the place and even, for some reason, a family of armadillos (1), there was the obligatory giant spider web (specially ordered all the way from "_Evil Harry Dread, Giant Spider God Retails_") strategically placed to attract the attention and block the only stairway leading out of the great hall, there were the large torn curtains, that could easily flow in the wind, a huge empty fireplace, and on the back of it all, a large, ancient organ. In fact everything was old, dusty, big and empty. And dark. Darkness dominated the place, deep, shadowy dark, despite the large windows (covered in centuries old dust). Igor, was very proud of all this, he had given her ladyship a hand with the redecoration fifty years ago, and it never went out of style.

But Lady Margolotta looked sad.

She felt something was missing on her undeath, she had existed happily like this for so many centuries, but one day, when she was about to bite a young man's neck, she saw herself reflected in his eyes. It was the first time she had seen her own imagein ages. That came as a shock. So, that was how _other_ people saw her. She tried to be polite and respect as many of the protocol about the whole blood craving and drinking business. She always thought people understood. But at that moment, with blood shot eyes, fangs extended and veins bulging on her forehead, what she saw was a monster, an _evil_ monster, about to attack a helpless boy. And the worst part is that after that epiphany, after she knew what she was doing, she went ahead and satisfied her lust for blood anyway. She left the boy alive of course, she never went as far as killing people. But inside her, something died…

Since then, those images had come back to haunt her, day, after day, after day…

She got up and walked to the organ. She felt like playing something.

Igor, who was sitting on a desk, writing a letter to his great-grand-nephew Igor asking if he could lend him a hand ("_3:4, pale red, jut for wile_, _till I find one for my latest creation_") stopped and looked by the corner of his eye. He knew where that was going…

"You know Igor…" she said, starting to play a sad, but pleasant little tune "I feel like playing something nice today…"

"Yeth, mirtheth…" 

The music went on, calm and relaxing…

"Do you know this song?" said Margolotta, more to herself than to Igor, "I seem to remember my grandmother singing it to me…way back…when I was alive…"

Notes flowed, and hung pleasantly in the air…

"It's about family and happy meadows…"

"Funny," answerd, Igor, in a seemingly innocent way, "it theemth to me that it thpeakth of death and graveyardth…"

"No," said Margolotta, a hint desperately "look, this is the bit where the bluebird sings in a tree branch…"

The music was rather calm and nostalgic…but in the background there could be heard a hint of danger blooming. 

"It ith? It thoundth to me like an howl over a nithe open mautholeum…"

"No, no, but look! This is when Pete, the mailman, brings news of an unexpected party!"

Yes, whatever it was, it was turning the bright sounds into darker tunes.

"Oh, no my Lady if you notith you'll thee that it ith…er…a methenger, telling…er …young Mary… her old daddy is going to hang in the morning…yeth…thath it!"

The music was now rather depressing and gloomy.

"But…but…there are birds in the air…and songs…and…"

"No, my lady, it ith clear that they are batth…vampire batth…urging for blood…"

The song was as dark as the room now.

"And the little dog, Pongo, playing fetch?'"

"A wolf…er…a…wolf with ravieth…thhathing a peathant!"

It was growing, becoming stronger and harsher.

"…the happy squirrel family, living in a tree hole?"

"Ratth on a coffin…"

The music filled the room, fast, desperate, and dark. 

"And the rose, the red, red rose…"

"It ith blood flowing from a neck…"

Lady Margolotta stopped suddenly, and turned to Igor. He was right. There was only darkness, death and rot everywhere. She felt tired, lost and without hope. But still she managed one last weak question.

"But the rose's stem is green…"

"It'th a neck… with… gangrene!" said Igor triumphantly.

He was relieved. His mistress was having another one of her odd moments, but he had managed to control it…again. He really cared for her, as far as an Igor could care for his employer, of course, and he was rather worried. He didn't like her mind to dwell on sick, disturbing and odd things. It couldn't be good for her… but these thoughts of light and life were becoming more and more frequent. She wasn't well. He knew it. And it was sad to see such a fine mind go to waste. (2)

And the worst bit was that this wasn't even one of those "oh, I'm so desperate, depressed and tormented by my eternal fate" the younger vampyres (Igor spat the "y" even in thought…no matter how hard that was) did to look cool. Oh, no, his mistress wasn't like that. She really was suffering…but fought it bravely. No one outside the castle would even dream of her moral dilemmas. That's why the lady was a vamp. 

What she needed right now was a distraction from all those flowers and fluff.

"Oh, by the way mithreth," he said, trying to change the subject into a much darker area, "it ith the firtht Octoday of the month…"

"Really," she said, but still rather indifferently, "already?"

"Yeth, your meeting ith tonight…"

"Oh, I'll go and get ready, then. Please prepare my black veiled cloak, Igor…I think I'll go with the mysterious hidden face look tonight…"

She got up.

"Ath you withh mirthtreth. That look doeth thuit you…"

She gave him a small, sad, weak smile.

"Thank you Igor."

As she climbed the stairs, and mysteriously crossed the giant spider web, Igor watched her back and nodded sadly. Her ladyship really was not well. There was madness and there was this. He knew madness and rather respected it, but this, this was much, much worse. 

(1) Which, most definitely, were not natural to Uberwald or even any nearby country. This funny little insect eater is actually native to the jungles of Klatch and must have made their way into the castle in some crate or something. People who saw them crawling of the walls, often got a bit confused but then, quickly, moved on. It was one of those things, better not to ask. 

(2) And to prove how attached Igor was to Lady Margolotta, let's just say he wasn't even thinking this in an "Igor" sort of way. 


End file.
